Angelo's Snare
by toggledog
Summary: Only four times, did Angelo ever see his friend Sherlock bring a "date" to his establishment. The fourth, John Watson, was certainly the most suited to the young crime consultant. Then John brought a woman to the restaurant…


Title: Angelo's Snare

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: PG13

Pairings: Holmes/Watson, Holmes/OC, John/Sarah

Summary: Only four times, did Angelo ever see his friend Sherlock bring a "date" to his establishment. The fourth, John Watson, was certainly the most suited to the young crime consultant. Then John brought a woman to the restaurant…

Warnings: Someone plans to commit rape, but is thwarted before they can even attempt it.

Author's Notes: I'm a newbie to this particular fandom. I thought I'd say 'hello' to everyone by writing a fic. Enjoy!

When it came to the gala opening of Angelo's esteemed new restaurant, of all the celebrities, hangers on, famous chefs, culinary experts and others of that ilk, the one person whom he was determined must attend was a little different.

Sherlock Holmes breezed into the restaurant a little after eight. At that point, many of the guests were already onto their main courses.

"Apologies for my lateness, Angelo." He said, taking off his scarf and coat and handing it to Billy, the water. "I was concerned with the most perplexing of mysteries, involving a dead racing horse. Certainly, it did not overtax my mind too much. I have just, in fact, come from Scotland Yard, where I determined the father of the horse's stable keeper to be the guilty suspect."

Angelo smiled to himself, as he led Sherlock to a small table, to the back of the room. As he passed, Angelo noted a few heads turning. Angelo knew Sherlock well enough to be aware of the man's impertinence in these matters. Sherlock had once told Angelo that people stared at him because they were subconsciously aware that there was brilliance in the room. Perhaps there was some truth to it. However, Angelo felt there was a more simple reason why people were drawn to him.

The restaurant owner was very loved up in a relationship with a man of similar bulky build as himself. However, he could see how other people could be attracted to Sherlock's striking pale skinned, dark haired beauty. As he sat Sherlock down at the table, he was suddenly aware of the fact that, in the years he had known him, he had never actually seen Sherlock with a partner, be it male or female.

"Let me guess, Sherlock. You determined it using the size of the horse's hoof and a piece of twine found in the stable."

Sherlock's mouth twitched a slight smile. "The horse's hoof was, indeed the reason that I determined this was not the accident it was originally thought to be. It was assumed the horse damaged its leg by kicking in the stable gate, and thus had to be put down. However, upon examining the hoofs, I determined that it was impossible that the injuries to the horse's anatomy had been caused by it kicking the gate in. Furthermore, there was adequate proof that the injuries were, in fact caused by someone deliberately breaking the horse's leg, with a blunt instrument. You see-"

"Ah, Angelo… table four is complaining about the oysters. They're insistent that they're off." Billy glanced at Sherlock.

"Sorry, Sherlock. Duty calls."

"Certainly." The genius smiled.

As Angelo hurried away, he found himself feeling, for the first time, a little sad for his brilliant friend. It was obvious he was desperate to have someone to spout his ideas off, to be in awe of him, an audience.

After dealing with table four, Angelo looked back to the only solitary figure in the place and hoped that he would find that person.

Eight months later, Sherlock strolled into the restaurant, an exuberant blond man following behind him. Angelo came right over.

"Sherlock!" He shook his hand.

"Angelo. This is Jay Burton."

He's done alright for himself, here, Angelo thought, taking in the other's chiseled face and muscular body.

"This man got me off a murder charge." Angelo said.

"Triple." Sherlock corrected him.

"Triple murder charge."

Angelo noted that, from the second Jay walked into the place; he had not taken his eyes off Sherlock. His face was affixed with a goofy grin.

"He proved to the police that I was in a different area, house breaking, at the time of the murders."

Jay smiled even wider at the consulting detective.

"Anything you want on the menu, I'll cook it myself."

"Thank you, Angelo."

Angelo proudly walked away, looking back momentarily to Sherlock concentrating intently on something out of the window, and Jay staring contently at Sherlock.

A few minutes later, he came back.

"Has anyone told you that you have the most beautiful eyes? I could just-"Jay suddenly noticed they had another's attention and blushed fiercely.

"Thank you, Angelo. We'll miss the entrees, I think. I'll just have the salad. Jay?"

"Ah…" He looked through the menu, as though seeing it for the first time. "Is the steak any good?"

"The steak's fine." Sherlock said, coldly. "Will it take long?" He turned to Angelo.

Angelo was a little fazed by his friend's sudden change in character. "How do you like it?" He asked Jay. The young man was still giving Sherlock the impassioned look. Evidentially, he had not noticed how the atmosphere had turned icy.

"Ah... medium rare, thanks."

Sometime later, Angelo returned with the food, to find Jay still smiling broadly, as though he'd become a winner in the national lottery and Sherlock looking utterly bored. Angelo felt his heart sink. Clearly, this wasn't working. He wondered where they'd met

Before Jay had even finished eating, Sherlock walked up to the front counter.

"I told you, Sherlock!" Angelo exclaimed, upon seeing the consultant take out his wallet. "It's on the house. Not going well, I see?"

A momentary surprise flashed through the pale eyes before dissipating.

"Jay is so utterly inept at any form of intellectual discussion that I'm beginning to think that I should make a case that we've finally found the missing link! Though, to be fair to apes-"

"Come one, Sherlock." Angelo glanced over to the table, where Jay was fidgeting with his hair. "Be fair to the poor guy. It's obvious he's very infatuated with you. It tends to make people a bit nervous."

Sherlock let out an impatient sigh. "This is why I never get into these matters! It is merely pheromones initialing a biological imperative! A great distraction from the finer tunings of the mind. I will not listen to Mommy again." He said the last sentence a little quieter.

"Your mother put you up to this?" Angelo couldn't help but smile a little.

"She said I need to get out more, see people. Well, this has convinced me that my great love affair is my work, the mechanizations of the mind."

Sure enough, the next few times Sherlock came to his restaurant, it was in a solo capacity.

Then he walked in with a very distinguished looking gentleman, indeed. The other held the door open for Sherlock before sitting gracefully opposite him at the table.

Angelo was positively beaming, this time. The man's double breasted suit attire and distinguished way of holding himself, spoke of great nobility.

"Come now, Sherlock." The man said gently. "You know how it disheartens me when you get into one of your despondencies."

"Nice to meet you." Angelo thrust out his hand. The other gentleman shook it, firmly but not harshly. "Anything you want on the menu, anything at all."

He looked to Sherlock, who was positively scowling.

"For you, Sherlock and your date."

The distinguished man broke out into peals of laughter. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Angelo but I am not Sherlock's date. I am his brother."

"Oh." Angelo felt himself redden. "I'm really sorry. I didn't-"

"Think nothing of it. Mycroft Holmes." He smiled, while opposite him, Sherlock glowered.

Now wanting to be as far away from the situation as possible, Angelo hurried away, telling himself he would be more careful in the future, and thinking to himself that it should have been obvious from the outset, from the two reactions, that they were brothers.

As soon as Angelo saw the next man that led Sherlock into the restaurant, he knew something was amiss. Though Angelo had, indeed, cleaned himself up from his criminal days, there was enough of a trait left inside him to recognize another of his former ilk.

"Ah, Angelo." Sherlock said, as he approached the table. "May I introduce Tom Morton?"

The well dressed man held out a heavily tanned hand. His hair was thick, wavy and combed back from his face.

Angelo said nothing, simply shook the man's hand. Tom had an iron grip.

"Anything you want, Sherlock."

Angelo glared at the dark-haired man's date, and then stormed back to the kitchens.

After collecting the orders, he was determined to not let them out of his sight or hearing. Angelo ordered Billy to serrupticiously hover near the couple and report back the conversation.

Ten minutes later, the young waiter reported that Tom was talking about his job in finance. Angelo bade the young man to take more orders. He knew he would feel less concerned if he kept a close eye on the table, himself.

As the night progressed, the two men ordered two bottles of wine. Before long, one had been drunk. Still suspicious and following his instinct, Angelo started to make up the empty table next to theirs. Sherlock would see through this obvious duplicity but chatted to his companion, never-the-less.

"Aren't you going to drink the rest of your wine?" Tom asked.

"I would think not." Sherlock replied. "Considering you slipped rohipnol in it, while I was in the bathroom."

Angelo stilled in placing a fork, his heart starting to hammer.

_That bastard!_

It took all of his focus not to storm over to the table and lay the insidious man out.

"How can you…why that's…that's absurd…" Tom blustered.

Sherlock picked up the glass. "Yes, clearly rohipnol. Nicely dissolved, though. Now why would you do that?" He steepled his fingers together and cast his canny gaze upon the man. "Certainly not robbery. Your jeans are deliberately faded and look worn and old, but are deliberate designer label, as is your leather jacket. You are of money, but you are deliberately acquiring the 'dressing down' look. This signals that your family is 'of money' and you have acquired a distain for it. You have ordered a bottle of wine and drank the majority of it but are not the least bit inebriated. So you are accustomed to drinking. I, however, am not much of a drinker, have been nursing this one glass all night. When you opened your wallet to show me your business card, there was a key inside, for a room for the 'Washington Hotel'. That is only across the road from here. You wanted it to appear that we were both drinking the wine, and when the rohipnol took effect, it would appear that I was inebriated. You could then escort me across the road to the hotel, where you already had the key for the room. I can only presume then, that your motivation for the rohipnol was rape."

"You bastard!" Angelo suddenly launched himself on the flustered man and threw him out of his chair and up against the wall. "You dare even touch this man-"

"Angelo!" Sherlock stood up, looking clearly startled. Tom used the opportunity to wrestle himself from the larger man's grasp and run out of the restaurant. Angelo turned momentarily to take flight after him, but then considered the more important concern was Sherlock's well being.

"Are you ok?" He asked him.

"Certainly, I'm fine." Sherlock was putting on his coat.

"But the man was going to-"

"I said I'm fine!" Sherlock snapped. He wrapped his scarf around his head. "Thank you for dinner."

It was another year of solo outings to the restaurant, before Sherlock walked in with a rather pleasant looking man. Angelo already knew who this one was. Rumours abounded that the young consulting detective had moved in with a doctor and was already looking into crimes with him. The man had a pleasant, open feel about him. He began his usual banter about how he knew Sherlock. He noticed this man, Watson, appeared quite interested.

"I'll get a candle, for the table. More romantic."

Good work, Sherlock, Angelo thought, as he quickly moved away to get the candle. Though not as handsome as the infatuated Jay, or the potential rapist Tom, there was something appealing about John Watson. Angelo lit the candle, and then stood back, a little out of the way to watch the conversation between the two men. Both seemed equally interested in what the other had to say.

At one point, Sherlock abruptly got up and ran out. Angelo was a little perplexed by this turn of events. It didn't seem as though the conversation between the two was in the least way heated. Watson appeared to focus on his half eaten food a moment, and then ran out after his partner.

Within minutes, Angelo received a text from Sherlock.

**John has forgotten his walking stick. Can you please deliver it to 221b Baker Street?**

**SH.**

John appeared very surprised, indeed, when Angelo knocked on the door and handed his walking stick back. It appeared he really had forgotten it.

He stepped back into the street, a big grin affixed on his face.

Finally, it seemed, Sherlock had found his equal.

He couldn't blame the woman. She seemed pleasant enough. Even rather pretty. No, this wasn't her problem. Not at all. He did find it unfortunate; however that she became part of his firing range.

Watson had walked in with her at 7pm, only a week after he had been in with Sherlock, had sat at the same table, had the nerve to reach across and take _her_ hand.

"Ah, Angelo." He had the audacity to smile, as he walked over to them. "This is Sarah."

"I don't think you should eat here." He said, simply.

Watson blinked. "Ah, excuse me?"

"We had a food poisoning scare a few days back. I'd advise going somewhere else."

Watson looked around at the rather full restaurant.

"I'm sorry, Angelo but I'm rather surprised that you would-"

"Wouldn't want you two to get sick." He picked the menus off the table and hurried away before Watson could reply.

He spied Billy ahead, picking up a dish from the kitchen counter.

"Billy."

The young man turned. "Yes, boss?"

"Table fourteen." His eyes flicked back to where the couple had been sitting.

"Hold on a second."

John Watson was crossing the restaurant floor, heading straight to where Angelo was standing, a determined look on his face.

"Can we talk, in private?" He said, once he was in earshot.

Angelo flicked a hand, dismissing Billy as he glowered at the now erect standing man behind himself.

"If you feel you must." He signaled the doctor to walk with him to stand behind the front counter, positioning them in a small alcove facing the till.

"What is going on?" John said, quietly, glancing back at his table to where the girl still waited.

"If I hear you've hurt Sherlock-"

"Sherlock?" Watson's eyes registered momentary confusion, before turning to resignation. He even sighed. "You've got me all wrong. I'm not… we're not together. That wasn't a date. I like _women_."

Angelo simply shook his head, refusing to believe it. "How can you do this to such a great man?"

"I'm not _doing_ anything!" he frustratedly ran a hand through his hair. "Besides, Sherlock told me he doesn't want a relationship." He finished, lower.

Angelo felt his anger melt, suddenly understanding.

_Sherlock you fool!_

"Sherlock is brilliant at many things. What he isn't brilliant at is analyzing himself."

"He calls himself a sociopath."

"Sociopath." Angelo allowed himself to laugh. "No. Just brilliant. Very socially awkward. Hasn't had much luck with relationships."

"Haven't we all…?" Watson murmured. He stared intently at the man before him. "Look, I understand you like Sherlock, a lot. He is, indeed, a very brilliant man. But I _live_ with him."

"No, it's more than that. On both your sides. It's obvious to all but you. Ridiculous, really."

"Oh come on…"

Angelo said nothing, simply folded his arms. Watson frowned.

"I'm not… maybe we should just leave."

Angelo watched him dejectedly move back to the table and confer briefly with the girl. She glanced over to Angelo, before picking up her jacket.

He was very glad to see them both walk out of the door.

Though Angelo was, himself, clean, for Sherlock's sake, he kept contacts in the underworld. The story of what happened by the pool spread fast along the criminal grapevine. John Watson decked out in enough explosives to level an apartment block. Sherlock managing to release him from the hazardous suit before both were targeted by unknown snipers. Detective Lestrade and his team saving the day by shooting the snipers, followed by the brains behind the chaos, Moriarty. Moriarty then escaping from his hospital room.

Angelo wasn't sure what to make of it. He was certain that if all this had happened, surely it would make the news? He had been listening to the radio for three days now and the most important story appeared to be another raise in interest rates. The problem was that he couldn't get in contact with Sherlock. He wasn't answering any calls or texts to his mobile.

On the fourth day, while serving at the cash register, Angelo spotted the familiar dark curls, followed by military style reddish brown hair. "Billy," he ushered the diminutive waiter over. "Take care of these customers, will you?"

He veritably ran over to where Sherlock and Watson were seating themselves down.

"Sherlock! You're ok!"

"I'm fine, thank you Angelo." He said in a somewhat brusque tone.

"Anything you want on the menu, anything at all." He couldn't resist reaching out and grabbing the man by the shoulder. Sherlock flinched a little.

"Angelo." Watson's smile was of genuine warmth. "Can you please bring a candle to the table?"

Angelo blinked. "Ah-"

"No, that won't be necessary." Sherlock cut in.

"If you could, please Angelo." Watson said.

"If you persist in these games…" Sherlock muttered to the man opposite him.

"No games, Sherlock. I told you-" To Angelo's astonishment, John reached across the table, snatching at Sherlock's hand. It was instantly drawn away. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? I laid it all out for you last night. I _want_ you. Beyond that, I _need_ you. I can't bear to be a second without you."

Angelo had the odd realization that Watson was doing this deliberately in front of him. It was confirmed when the man turned to him.

"How did you know?"

Sherlock now turned his pale eyes up towards the restaurant owner. The irises instantly hardened.

"And what, in your _tiny mind_ did you know?" The chill in his voice echoed his eyes.

Angelo had the sudden urge to duck under the table. He felt his cheeks redden.

"I don't know what he's talking about."

Sherlock laughed, the sound grotesque in its lack of humour.

"Angelo, I see by your reaction that you believe there is a mutual sexual attraction between John and I. I can assure you it only goes one way." He turned back to John. "I'm sorry. I told you before. My lover is the work."

There was a momentary stillness, before John stood up, slamming the chair into the table behind. "Damn you, Sherlock."

He stormed out of the restaurant.

"He so loves to be melodramatic." Sherlock shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. But this time, you are mistaken." Angelo had finally decided that he'd had enough. "You aren't a child; you're a 30 year old man so why don't you act like one?"

It was an incredible feat to see Sherlock Holmes at a loss for words. Angelo turned his back and walked away before e could respond. When he turned back, Sherlock had disappeared.

It took another three hours for the military doctor to return. This time, it was in a solo capacity. He barged right up to the front counter and determined to see a very disgruntled Angelo. He led Watson to the small niche where they'd had their heated conversation the week before.

"What is it now? I'm a busy man."

"How did you know?"

"I told you. It's obvious."

Watson appeared to consider this, and then nodded. "Well, thank you. I don't know what you said to Sherlock but… thank you."

"Anything you want. Anything at all. It's on the house." Angelo beamed at the young couple. "And I'll get you that candle."

"Just coffee for me. Strong black, thanks Angelo. We won't be too long. We're in the middle of a case." Sherlock said.

"I'm starving." Watson glanced at the menu. "I'll have the steak. Medium rare."

"Coming up." Angelo grinned. He hurried away, not before turning back. The two men appeared engaged in an animated conversation. Watson reached over, grabbed Sherlock's hand and kissed it. The two continued to talk, the doctor's hand still in the consulting detectives.

Angelo's grin turned into a chuckle.


End file.
